


Maxwell's Demon

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Gundam Wing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written 2007 system of a down songfic...<br/>Duo is morose about the war and the Maxwell church massacre, otherwise known as bad middle school poetry</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maxwell's Demon

_Wake up, Grab a brush and put a little (make up) Grab a brush and put a little,_  
New day, same old routine. Duo was used to it. It was all the same. The fighting, the words, and the warped existence he continued to live. Everything he had ever loved lost.  
 _Hide the scars to fade away the (shake up) Hide the scars to fade away the,_  
Face set in a mask of deception he wore like the denied lie of his life. A blemish on the existence that could have been. Everything he had done, would do. It all came down to the worthlessness of him. He caused the pain, and one day, he in turn would pay. But until that day came he would continue to raise the bar, the price on his life.  
 _Why'd you leave the keys upon the table? Here you go create another fable_  
He wandered into the kitchen in his way of leisurely pursuance in which everything was accomplished and nothing done. His braid thwacked against his back, the harsh reminder of all he had been through all he had lost. Maxwell's Demon.  
 _You wanted to, Grab a brush and put a little make up_  
His reflection in glass of the microwave oven above the dishwasher blurred against the golden light from the heat inside. Steamed window into nothing, looking at his food. That emotionless face struck him as odd. But he was hiding, as usual.  
 _You wanted to, Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup, You wanted to,_  
The food was tasteless, as so much was. Things seemed to lose meaning eventually. A meaningless life of meaningless revenge and death and who knew what it was all for. Somewhere, the child in his heart started to cry.  
 _Why'd you leave the keys upon the table? You wanted to_  
That was what it all was now. Suppress the child, the cold, hungry, little bastard that gnawed at the tight seal over the explosive contents of his brain. What he wanted. He was in charge now. The God of Death dealt the blows. He was safe this way. If he commanded who was to die, none would go before their time, and none of his would leave too soon.  
 _I don't think you trust In, my, self righteous suicide,_  
That was it. He killed himself a little more every day, every hour, every minute. The child's cries grew weaker. Soon there would only be him left. Nothing to stop the ruthless killer, searching for his death.  
 _I, cry, when angels deserve to die, Die,_  
But the memories where what kept the child alive, and no matter what he did, he would never be free of his betrayal. He would never see reason. For if there was reason his life would have been different.  
 _Wake up, Grab a brush and put a little (make up) Grab a brush and put a little,_  
The dishes went into the washer without another look at the microwave. The bathroom was the next stop. The scorching water burned him. Sensation was worth a thousand words these days, a thousand lives and moments. It was all he had left, if anything at all.  
 _Hide the scars to fade away the (shake up) Hide the scars to fade away the_  
In the shower he was without defense or armor. It was something that was so rare it sometimes scared him. Toweling off he chanced another glance in the mirror. Surprising how many he owned and how few times he ever saw himself. The half naked person staring back at him was not his own. The scarred body and bewildered face denounced his usual calm. Where was his mind going?  
 _Why'd you leave the keys upon the table? Here you go create another fable_  
All the mistakes that he had seen, flittering across his face like a bad dream of somebody else. This was not his, this was not him, and he was not here. That explanation fit the facts better then anything else. This was the truth of deterioration. The slow degradation of his mentality to the young child still pounding the smoldering ground.  
 _You wanted to, Grab a brush and put a little make up_  
His thoughts were straying too far. He grabbed a brush off the sink and set into his hair, glaring at the reflection as if daring it to take off another layer of his life.  
 _You wanted to, Hide the scars to fade away the shake up_  
When his hair was back in its braid, damp but clean and tangle less he left the bathroom, slinging a vest over his bare chest. No work today, no pockets to pick, nothing to steal, nobody to kill, no buildings to infiltrate. He had no one to see but himself. He was sometimes the worst one to spend a day with though.  
 _You wanted to, Why'd you leave the keys upon the table? You wanted to,_  
To keep his mind of the past, off the mistakes and the trials and the lost, he turned on the TV. There was nothing on. Channel after channel of pointless garbage filtering down into a cacophony of nothing.  
 _I don't think you trust In, my, self righteous suicide, I cry when angels deserve to die_  
The channels flipped again at the point of the remote. History had always been one of his favorites. Until now. Images of the war torn and the helpless, echoes to who he was, had been.  
 _In my, self righteous suicide I, cry. When angels deserve to die_  
The small children on the screen called out to his heart. It was like the voices of the long ago dead were coming back to haunt him. The wailing cries of a tinny motherless, fatherless child sitting.  
 _Father, Father, Father, Father Father/_ _Into your hands/I/commend my spirit, Father, into your hands_

His hands shaking, eyes watering he watched the screen, seeing nothing but the roiling past. The past he had chosen to leave behind and forget, coming in force through the images raised by the TV. 'I am the GOD OF DEATH! I am not.I do not if only.'  
 _Why have you forsaken me?_  
Remembering those last moments, where is it that childhood ends? Is it with that final disconnecting loss? The wailing cries of a tinny motherless, fatherless, homeless child sitting   
 _In your eyes forsaken me,_  
The wailing cries of a tinny motherless, fatherless, homeless child sitting in a   
 _In your thoughts forsaken me,_  
The wailing cries of a tinny motherless, fatherless, homeless child sitting in a ruined, smoldering church..no  
 _In your heart forsaken, me oh,_  
The wailing cries of a tinny motherless, fatherless, homeless child sitting in a ruined, smoldering church, surrounded by the once-loving now dead.  
'I am Duo Maxwell, I run, I hide, and I never lie.' What was this lie he was living today. What was this child in his heart? Why was he so afraid to let it cry? It hurt so much. 'I can't believe in god, I've never seen a miracle. I can believe in death, I've seen many dead men.' What was there left for him to believe in now?  
 _Trust in my self righteous suicide, I, cry, when angels deserve to die, In my self righteous suicide, I, cry, when angels deserve to die._


End file.
